Talk:No Greater Love/@comment-375045-20180804090522
Del had a lot to say about this episode in his 2015 book: Rodney being Rodney, it weren't long before he'd forgotten all about his WPC, and after a brief flirtation with a skinny bird at the dry-cleaners, he'd moved on to his next obsession. Her name was Irene Mackay, and she fell for him thanks to a nice line in lingerie he had on him. He wasn't wearing it - just to be clear - he was selling it door to door. He let her have the lion's share, paying it off on the weekly to give him an excuse to keep popping round (he was a div but he weren't completely stupid). Grandad and I had seen the signs of course, watching him lolling about the place with that glazed look in his eyes, nicking a few splashes of my aftershave, so we knew he was on the prowl again, but we didn't know how hard he's fallen. "I think I'm in love", he confided one night, seeking to sup a drop from his big brother's pool of knowledge and expertise in this most delicate of areas. I was always touched by these moments when he opened up to me and laid his feelings out on the table, knowing that a man of my sophistication would handle the situation with care and consideration. It was flattering. Anyway, once me and Grandad had finished laughing, I pointed out that he was always falling in love with one little girl or another, and not to let it go to his head. "Irene is not a little girl," he said. "She's forty." Now, I don't want to cause offence, but on this occasion even Grandad admitted he would have thought twice. I know people say that life begins at forty, but so does sciatia. The biggest problem though was her '''husband'.'' "He don't live with her," Rodney insisted. "He's away." "Where?" asked Grandad. "Parkhurst," Rodney told him. I seem to remember doing a bit of shouting at that point. When I'd calmed down, I asked him what Mr. Mackay was in for. "You know, this and that." "Like what?" I asked, knowing smoke when it's being puffed up my posterior. "Wounding with intent, GBH, and attempted murder." "Got a bit of a temper, has he?" I could see Rodney had really fallen on his feet with this one. "That's why Irene's had such an unhappy life with him," he said, "he used to beat her up. She's moved over here from the East End to get away from him." "Get away from him?" I said. "He's on the Isle of bloody Wight!" "Yeah, but that's the problem," Rodney said. "He's being released soon. Do you think I should go and see him, tell him about me and Irene, man to man?" You know I said Rodney wasn't completely stupid? I was wrong. There were times when he made Trigger look like Stephen Dawkings. I pointed out to him that the merits of his plan depended entirely on how much he enjoyed having knees in the middle of his legs, and he stormed off (he marched out of the flat in a huff about five times a day as a rule, it was his main bit of exercise) spouting the usual "I'm a grown man and I'll live my own life" cobblers. I thought about looking into the price of private medical insurance, but knowing Rodney as I did, I decided he'd either be given the heave-ho within the week or he'd go off her. Either way, he'd be well clear before Tommy Mackay came sniffing around. It didn't quite work out that way. While Tommy Mackay counted down the days to release, Rodney and Irene got closer. So I did what any older brother worth his salt would have done and stuck my oar in. Well, you've gotta look out for family, ain't you? I popped round to see Irene, took her out for a drink, and gently discussed the subject of Rodney. Basically, I told her that if she had any feelings for him, she'd steer well clear. Me being a bit of charmer, especially with a cocktail in my hand, she saw my point. Of course, when she gave Rodney the push, he weren't in a good way, but I'd rather his eyes were puffy from crying than from having had Tommy Mackay's toecaps shoved in 'em. I should have known that wouldn't be the end of it though. We bumped into Irene's son, Marcus, and he only went and told Rodney I'd talked to Irene. So, obviously, Rodders went and got the hump (again!). Best laid plans and all that... The night was young as far as bad luck was concerned. After a few light refreshments at The Nag's Head, I was doing a bit of business knocking out some camel-hair overcoats, when who should I bump into? I'll give you a clue: he didn't have much of a suntan. Yeah, Tommy Bleedin' Mackay. Him and a mate pulled me into an alleyway to have a quiet word about a little problem named Rodney Trotter. Problem was, they thought I was Rodney. I could have put 'em straight of course, but where would that have have left Rodney? Like I said, you've gotta look out for family, whether they want you to or not. Well, I weren't in the best of moods anyway since, thanks to Tommy, I'd just ruined a brand-new coat (and if there's one thing you don't interfere with besides a bloke's bird or his family, it's his clothes), so I told him he'd got the right man and that I'd be happy to discuss the matter at some length. I came away with some cuts and bruises (my face looked like the inside of a Fray Bentos pie by the time it was all over), but I gave as good as I got, and Tommy learned the error of his ways: I left him unconscious next to some bins. His mate legged it. It took me half an hour to get back around the corner to the pub, with legs that would only bend in the wrong direction, and a head that felt twice as big as it had five minutes earlier. Later, I'd turn the bath pink trying to get myself scrubbed up. Still, Tommy Mackay weren't all that, and while I'd rather have explained it to him without going down the fractured ribs route, I was confident Irene wouldn't be hearing from him again. Rodney was back at The Nag's Head by then. I'd already decided I'd give him some old pony about falling down the stairs (I didn't want him worrying), I just wanted him to know that the path was clear for him and Irene. Course, once he recognised his handsome older brother underneath all the purple swelling, he was concerned... for about a minute. His main concern though was telling me all about a new bird he'd met at a roller disco. Zoe her name was. "Irene was just infatuation," he said, "but this is love!" He introduced her, but my vision was fading by that point, so I can't really say what she was like. Just before they left, he called back to me. "I'd get that head looked at if I was you." Truest bloody words he'd ever spoken!